Page 172 of The Enemy Protector
When I return a few hours later, I find Sofia in the living room. She should be in class. I immediately notice she’s curled up, a blanket pulled over her despite the warmth in the house. The television is on, but muted. She isn’t watching it. Her gaze is fixed somewhere distant, her mind clearly somewhere else.
And fuck. I know. Yesterday was hard, even though the old man never was a good father to her.
She looks composed, but I can see the weight sitting just beneath the surface.
“Any decisions on the funeral?” I ask.
“Yes.” Her voice is steady. “Three days from now.”
Public. Visible. Strategic.
“You’ll go.”
“Yes.” She pulls the blanket tighter around herself. “I’m not going to mourn him. But I’ll be there for everyone watching. I want it very clear who’s in control.”
It already is. But this will make it undeniable.
“You’ll have full security,” I say.
“I know.”
“Are you okay?”
“My father died a long time ago,” she says. “I just didn’t know it.”
There’s no anger in her tone. No grief.
“I don’t hate him,” she continues. “I thought I would. I thought I’d feel something when this happened. All I can think is his death was too easy.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“And I hate that I feel like that. But after what he did to her, this was nothing.”
I don’t argue with that.
I press my lips to the top of her head.
“You didn’t tell me everything, did you?”
I go still, just for a fraction of a second.
“Something’s coming,” she says. “I can feel it.”
Of course she can.
“It’s handled,” I say.
She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me.
“You don’t get to decide what I can handle anymore.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t keep me in the dark.”
I hold her gaze.
I could tell her everything, but not today.
